


Smaller Steps

by LeraOmo (Lera_Myers)



Series: Thedas Wettings [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Bladder Control, Clothed Sex, Comfort Sex, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Non-Penetrative Sex, Omorashi, Porn with Feelings, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lera_Myers/pseuds/LeraOmo
Summary: Lavellan is struggling both physically and emotionally after losing her arm. Josephine has a rather unusual solution.





	Smaller Steps

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains omorashi and smut. Please read the tags!

Two and a half weeks after the Inquisition transitions to a peacekeeping force, Josephine decides it’s time to do something about the emotional side of their relationship.

There’s nothing easy about losing one’s arm. She’s been a dedicated caregiver through Lavellan’s entire recovery, and the Inquisitor has clearly taken comfort in it. Even Sera remarked on how much she seemed to perk up when they were together. Yet at the same time, something is missing.

She’s afraid. Josephine can see it. Afraid to discuss the future - even where they’ll live now that the Inner Circle members are all departing - afraid to cuddle too close, afraid to find her body’s new limits and abilities. The healers cleared her for all her usual physical activities a fortnight ago (although they recommended holding back on riding just yet), but she hasn’t tried much more than the basic necessities of life. Even those can be a struggle, relearning how to tie laces and cut meat and carry things with just one hand, and there’s always this underlying fear in her eyes.

Sometimes, the ambassador thinks, jumping in with little warning can be the best help. That, therefore, is how she forms her plan.

It’s a warm night. They’re sitting side by side in the bedroom set aside for them when they first came to the Exalted Council, which thankfully has a very comfortable couch. Lavellan reviews letters from her family while Josephine organizes her own paperwork. Every so often, she reaches over to refill their glasses from the jug of water on the table, but she says nothing until Lavellan starts to get up from the couch. 

When she shifts, Josephine wraps an arm around her waist. “Stay with me,” she says. 

Lavellan looks at her, mildly amused. “Just need the privy.”

Josephine allows herself a little smile. “I know.”

She holds the Inquisitor’s gaze for a moment, looking for any sign of objection, but there are none. Instead, Lavellan gives the barest nod and settles back, picking up another piece of paper. Josephine slides her a fresh glass of water.

No one has bothered them much in the last few weeks, with the healers’ insistence that Lavellan needs her rest. Still, this isn’t the time to take chances. Josephine gets up to block off the door; by the time she sits back down, Lavellan has drained about a third of the glass.

“Should I change?” the Inquisitor murmurs. She’s still wearing that red uniform they painstakingly tailored to her size. No one sells fancy suits _made_ for elves.

Josephine arches a brow. “And miss showing me what you think of the Council?” she asks, drawing a smile out of her girlfriend. Lavellan reaches for her glass again.

“Cheers.”

It probably _would_ be wiser to get her into something else, Josephine’s good sense insists. But Lavellan hasn’t worked out the details of getting dressed without help yet. It’d only shatter the mood that’s beginning to build in the room.

By the time the drink is gone, Lavellan’s squirming a little, probably more with anticipation than anything else. There are flashes of uncertainty in her eyes.

“Is this all right?” Josephine whispers, putting an arm around her.

Lavellan’s smile is shaky, but she nods. “Might not be so good at this anymore,” she confesses. “You know. Making you…happy.”

“This is about you.” When Lavellan opens her mouth to speak again, Josephine adds, “I am perfectly happy, my love,” with a soft smile to complement the statement.

The Inquisitor lets out a deep breath. “All right.”

Josephine fetches another refill and keeps watching out of the corner of her eye as Lavellan sips. With a sudden thought, the ambassador straightens in her seat.

“Perhaps you should tell me your opinion on Wycome,” she says cheerfully.

“What?”

“We should make plans.” Josephine gives her an innocent smile. “Shall we be off to Wycome when the time comes? Or to Antiva?”

Lavellan shoots her a look, but Josephine pretends not to notice. She’s perfectly serious about the entire thing, really, taking two pieces of paper they won’t need and outlining lists. One has the pros and cons of joining Lavellan’s clan in Wycome; the other lists the pros and cons of returning to House Montilyet in Antiva. Keeping her eyes on her writing, she reaches over with her free hand to tap on Lavellan’s knee.

“Uncross these, please,” she says pleasantly, and Lavellan complies. She concentrates fairly well on their project - which has to be done, after all, it isn’t a pointless distraction - though her posture is a different story as the minutes tick by. Sooner than Josephine expects, she’s issuing repeated requests for the Inquisitor to sit still, leave the lacing on her trousers alone, please pay attention. Lavellan gives her sheepish smiles and tries to comply. 

Well, it isn’t surprising, now that Josephine thinks about it. Between using a bedpan for nearly a week, and rarely leaving the bedroom in the guest wing even after that, of course her bladder would weaken. 

No need for more water, then. She rests a hand on the inside of Lavellan’s thigh, deliberately staying away from any sensitive areas. It is not pleasure, but a reminder to keep her legs spread. The other knee jiggles up and down, insistent, until Josephine bats at it lightly.

“Sorry,” Lavellan mutters, embarrassed. Josephine smiles and gives her a peck on the forehead.

“We can stop if you like,” she says carefully. It feels like they’re treading into unknown territory all over again, afraid to push too much, worried about truly seeing something through to its completion.

Lavellan shakes her head. “No,” she says with a faint smile. There’s hints of discomfort in it, but they are only physical discomfort. “I don’t think I’ll have much of a choice soon, though.”

Josephine nods against her. Ordinarily she’d be firmer, encouraging or even commanding her to hold it, but today she hesitates. Finally she murmurs, “Whenever it comes, let it happen.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes meet hers as Lavellan tips her head back, beginning to jiggle a knee again before she seems to realize it and stops herself. “Little longer,” she says, almost _begs._

They both need this, Josephine realizes, as the juncture of her legs throbs in agreement. An acknowledgement that while the Inquisitor’s body has changed, their attraction hasn’t. A reaffirmation of trust. And - after the thoroughly miserable weeks spent on edge around the Council, the Inquisition, and most of all Solas - a chance to give up all control. At another time in her life, she might have laughed. So many things that boil down to making a person wet themselves? Now she knows better.

She puts the papers aside - they can worry about that decision later. For now, she teases along Lavellan’s breasts through the uniform, drawing circles around her nipples. The Inquisitor inhales, and Josephine remembers the way she’s described it before: how the sensations of desperation and arousal war within her body, lighting every nerve ending on fire, making both experiences more intense than either would be alone. She undoes the front of Lavellan’s top, checking for consent with her eyes before slipping a hand inside.

Lavellan grips her arm. “Just - stay over my smalls?” she asks, unable to make eye contact.

Josephine nods. She’s not sure if it’s insecurity or the Inquisitor simply feeling _that sensitive_ right now, but they can worry about it later, one tiny step at a time. For now, she flicks at a nipple through the breastband, and Lavellan’s moan turns into a low gasp. She arches her back, spreading her legs wider, and this time, Josephine lets her squirm. Feeling her wriggle and press forward would get anyone floating on sensation and pride.

“Josie,” she whispers.

“Yes, darling.”

“I have to - “ 

“I know.” She kisses Lavellan’s cheek, and without further ado, wiggles a hand into her trousers.

The first pass over her smalls has an immediate reaction. Lavellan’s hips jerk, and just as quickly, she settles back into her seat, fanning her thighs in and out. Josephine stills her hand, waiting for a cue.

A series of short, sharp breaths as Lavellan struggles for control, then shakes her head. “Too much. Too much right now,” she manages, eyes shut tight.

Josephine nods, resting her hand on the swell of her girlfriend’s bladder. “And this?”

“That’s fine.” Lavellan opens her eyes again. Her whole body is trembling, but Josephine can see how hard she’s trying to be still, not to cross her legs or clamp them together or jam her hand between them and hold on. Keeping her fingers lightly over Lavellan’s lower stomach, Josephine slips her other arm between the couch and her girlfriend’s back. Lavellan slid forward in her seat while they were playing, and now Josephine encourages her wordlessly to sit up, the better for gravity to help nature take its course.

Shifting is difficult enough, it’s obvious to see. Lavellan’s eyes are shut again, and she sucks in air too quickly when she reseats herself. Her brows are knit, her jaw tight; Josephine knows that look, knows they have a matter of minutes, if that. Keeping one arm around Lavellan’s shoulders, she takes her girlfriend’s hand with the other, and gets a squeeze in immediate acknowledgement.

Her voice is breathless, frantic. “Josie - " 

“I know,” she whispers.

“I’m, I’ll - “

Josephine dips her head. “ _Yes_ ,” she murmurs.

She can _see_ the wave of pressure rise up in Lavellan’s body, the way her muscles clench and her face tightens, before the trickling starts. Lavellan shudders, burying her face in Josephine’s neck the best she can, and Josie strokes her hair in encouragement as she empties herself.

Without letting go of the Inquisitor’s hand, she adjusts the position of their wrists, pressing three fingers into Lavellan’s bladder and massaging in a small circle. Lavellan gasps, the sound turning into a moan when Josie keeps going. The wetness has spread from her crotch to pool under her rear, streams running down her legs to splatter noisily on the stone floor. It seeps into any cracks it can find, dripping into dirt, forming pools. Even after Lavellan finishes, the sound of liquid running off the couch is still audible, nearly swallowed by her panting aloud.

She opens her eyes to look up at Josephine, then shuts them again with a groan as she lets go a last burst of piss. Josephine rubs her back slowly.

Lavellan sighs, but though the sound is relieved, it’s not quite _relaxed._ Not yet. “I needed that,” she admits.

Josephine smiles, fingers playing around Lavellan’s open waistband. “Is there anything else you might need now?”

Looking at her again, the Inquisitor nods, opening her legs wide. Josephine presses against her immediately, flicking her clit through her smalls to earn a pleased gasp.

There’s no starting slow this time. Lavellan is insistent, ready, and demanding, pressing forward into the touch until Josephine abandons her gentle movements and rubs the wet cloth hard against her. With every breath, Lavellan begins to moan, or shout, or speak - Josie’s name, elvish curses, pleas for more. She climaxes like that, her hips arching completely off the couch, her cry echoing off the walls. Josephine’s skilled fingers keep going, guiding her through the orgasm. She doesn’t stop until Lavellan is squirming away, too sensitive for any more touch.

Then she draws her damp hand out, resting it on Lavellan’s equally-wet knee, and waits for the Inquisitor to catch her breath. With a start, she sees tears clinging to Lavellan’s lashes. This was either a terrible mistake, or - 

“Are you all right, darling?” she whispers, afraid to let herself think too much.

“Uh-huh.” Lavellan gulps and nods, looking up at her. She sits up, wiping her eyes clumsily. “I - I didn’t realize how scared I’d been, until…” She shakes her head. “That’s silly, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” Josephine says. She glances down; the wetness is turning cold where her hand brushes against it. “Shall I have a bath drawn?” 

Lavellan nods again. “That’d be nice.”

Josephine gets up and sends for a servant to take care of it. By the time she looks back over her shoulder again, the couch and floor are dry - though Lavellan’s still sitting in wet pants.

“I would have had them clean it,” Josie says gently, but the Inquisitor shakes her head in disgust.

“That’s a fight too far.”

Josephine understands. It took a long time for Lavellan to get over the discomfort of being waited on (and often by other elves, too). She wasn’t really expecting anything else.

The Inquisitor stands, drying her pants with a flick of magic, and picks up the papers again to study them. Josephine wants to interrupt her, tell her the bath should be ready by now, but she makes herself stay quiet and wait.

Finally, Lavellan looks up. “We’ll talk about this later, right? This - “ She indicates the papers, then waves her hand at her own body. “ - and _this_?”

“Yes. On both counts.” Josephine draws her into a hug, and Lavellan squeezes her extra tightly to make up for only being able to get one arm around her. “I love you.”

“I love you too, _vhenan._ ”


End file.
